


Love, Jamie

by CaedmonOfTheHighland



Series: Caedmon's 3am Short Fics [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Absent Guardians, Bastardisation of christmas, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Harry does some fucked up shit In the name of love, He figures it out eventually though, I think I need a therapist, LMFAO - Freeform, M/M, Murder, One-Sided Attraction, Oneshot, Poor Voldemort has absolutely no clue what's going on for years, Racism, Serial Killer Harry Potter, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, Tom Riddle's Diary, fanatic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaedmonOfTheHighland/pseuds/CaedmonOfTheHighland
Summary: He dipped his quill in the ink and moved to write but his hand hovered over the blank page. How did one start a diary anyways? Harry suddenly realised he had no clue.A drop of ink splashed onto the page from his quill and he watched with rapt fascination as it dissolved into the page, leaving it as pristine as it was before.A single word scrawled itself onto the page in an elegant script.'Hello'Harry stared at it blankly, amazed.'Hello,'  he wrote back. His heart thundering, trapped inside its cage of bones.'My name is Harry Potter ''It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter,'  The Diary responded. 'I am Tom Riddle,'
Relationships: Harry Potter/Diary Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Caedmon's 3am Short Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828057
Comments: 10
Kudos: 169





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bitch is back and she brings the first half of a one-shot as a peace offering. I'm so sorry I've left you guys hanging for so long, school has really taken over my life and between schoolwork, my home life and my planning for a different super big project, Writing has really taken the backseat. Good news, however; the second half of "Love, Jamie", The next chapter of "Reversed", AND the next chapter of "A Dead Man's Tale" are all nearly complete meaning you guys are gonna get some kind of triple update.
> 
> Also, this fic was heavily inspired by the song Circus by Lindsay Mendez so... go check that out I guess.

The diary was small. The worn cover smelt of leather and the pages were yellowed, an excellent indicator of the book's age.

He should be suspicious of it, he wanted so desperately to be suspicious of it but the book was so calming that he just couldn't muster up the energy for paranoia. The pages were blank, despite the engraved initials on the front. 

Sometimes Harry would imagine scenarios in which the owner of the book died tragically before being able to write a single word in the diary. He found a strange sort of freedom in letting his imagination run wild. 

He glanced at his watch, eyes widening before he shoved the book into his trunk and raced down the stairs of Black cottage, yelling at his Godfather. 

"Uncle Sirius!" he cried as he moved towards the fireplace. "I'm going to King's Cross now,"

When he got only a grunt in reply, he sighed. He wasn't quite sure why he'd expected anything else. It had been the same last year on his first day of Hogwarts. 

Sirius had been too unmotivated to even get himself out of bed, much less shower and dress well enough to appear the proper pureblood lord. He didn't go out much at all anymore, not that he had during Harry's childhood. The torture of Lily and James had broken something fragile in him, shattered so thoroughly that it might never be patched together.

Harry tossed the green powder in the fire before stepping into it and calling out the name of the train station. He stumbled out of the fire on the other side as the train let out a warning whistle, causing him to push frantically through the crowd of parents.

He managed to hop onto the train at the last minute and had barely stepped into the car's hallway when it lurched forward. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he got to work searching for the cabin containing his two best friends. 

The redhead and bibliophile were not hard to find. Like last year, Ron seemed to have picked a compartment close to the front of the train and it only took two tries before Harry found the pair. Ron was slumped in his seat, eyes glued to the scenery outside the window while Hermione had already buried herself in a thick book.

"Why hello strangers," He joked as he stepped into the compartment, tucking his trunk underneath one of the benches. "Miss me?" 

A bright grin spread across Ron's face as he leapt towards Harry, capturing him in a tight hug.

"Harry! We thought you'd missed the train mate," He exclaimed as he pulled back.

Harry pulled a face.

"I almost did," He admitted and Hermione tsked from her corner.

"You really do need to stop being late for things Harry," She said, her voice as bossy as ever. "You'll never get very far with a habit like that,"

Harry smiled at Hermione.

"You're right Mione, as always," 

She breathed a satisfied huff before turning back to her book and tuning out the world around her.

Ron gave him a commiserating look before pulling out a piece of paper. Men and women on brooms zoomed around it underneath a bold headline.

" **CHUDLEY CANNONS: IN THE RUNNING FOR THE NATIONAL TOURNAMENT?** " 

"They may have a chance this year," Ron exclaimed eagerly as he tugged at his orange Chudley Cannons jersey, paraphrasing the article's title.

Harry's patient smile stayed fixed on his face as he congratulated Ron and asked him conspiratorially where to get himself some Cannons paraphernalia. 

As they continued to speak about Quidditch, Ron's energy noticeably sapped and by the second hour, he was leaning against the window and yawning tiredly. 

Harry excused himself from the compartment, standing outside of the door for a minute or two before walking back in. 

He grinned softly when he found both of his friends snoozing against the window, Hermione's book teetering on the edge of her lap. 

He pulled his trunk from beneath the bench and slid out the book, grabbing a quill and an inkpot for good measure. He spread the journal out on his lap, balancing the inkpot on the bench beside him.

He dipped his quill in the ink and moved to write but his hand hovered over the blank page. How did one start a diary anyways? Harry suddenly realised he had no clue.

A drop of ink splashed onto the page from his quill and he watched with rapt fascination as it dissolved into the page, leaving it as pristine as it was before.

A single word scrawled itself onto the page in an elegant script.

_ 'Hello' _

Harry stared at it blankly, amazed.

_ 'Hello,'  _ he wrote back. His heart thundering, trapped inside its cage of bones. **_'My name is Harry Potter '_ **

_ 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter,'  _ The Diary responded.  _ 'I am Tom Riddle,' _

The rest of the day passed in a blur. His attention focused solely on the diary that had taken up residence in his inner robe pocket. It was when the day was over, when Harry lay on the fluffy red duvet of his bed in the Gryffindor tower, curtains shut tightly around the frame, that he was able to pull out the Diary from his pocket and write to Tom. They conversed for hours, about things mundane and extraordinary, generic and personal.

When the hour crept from late night to early morning, Tom deigned to remind him of his classes tomorrow. Harry stubbornly ignored him to ask another question, greatly amusing the soul shard.

_ 'No, I didn't die tragically before getting a chance to write in this journal,' _ He wrote, somehow managing to sound amused through the paper.  _ 'I rather doubt I'm dead, even now,' _

Harry's eyes widened in intrigue.  **_'How could you know for sure? For all you know it's been centuries since you got stuck in the diary,'_ ** He scrawled messily.

_ 'you make a good point,' _ Tom wrote.  _ 'But I'm rather sure,' _

Harry grinned fondly at the Diary.

**_'Does that mean that I could meet you in real life? I could be walking down the street and bump into you without even knowing it,'_ **

_ 'I find that your scenario would be quite unlikely but I suppose that anything is possible,' _

Harry settled himself in his blankets, dipping his quill one last time in his inkwell.

_ 'I'll dream of meeting you then, Tommy,' _

He flipped the book shut quickly, smiling at the outraged reply Tom would've penned out if he'd had the chance. 

His face fell against the pillow as he squealed into it, feeling giddy despite the late hour. He tried to settle himself down but ended up having to wait out his feelings.

"G'night Tommy," He muttered to himself as his eyes started to droop.

He fell asleep with the book underneath his pillows, feeling content with the knowledge that Tom would be guarding over him while he slept.

***

Harry stood outside Hagrid's hut, hand-me-down clothes covered in blood and feathers. His eyes were rolled back into his head, emerald green irises replaced by an expanse of vein riddled white. 

His hands, dripping lazily with thick scarlet, held a chicken. Its neck had been torn open and the entire oesophagus removed from the animal. Harry tied the long organs together with long, nimble fingers, knotting the corpses of the dead animals into the long cord he'd made. He tied it into a bow and stuck it on Hagrid's door, a nice surprise for when the giant man awoke.

Inhabiting his mind, Tom Riddle was impressed. Even possessed, Harry went above and beyond for him, taking care of the tiny corpses in a way that was equally traumatising and artistic. 

He had the twelve-year-old strip and throw his sullied clothes into a pile that was then incinerated. The invisibility cloak that had been sitting to the side was wrapped snugly around the schoolboy's body and they headed back towards the castle. 

They navigated it with ease, skillfully avoiding the trick steps and stones that could alert the sleeping portraits to their presence. 

Tom had Harry say the password to the common room and they peeked inside to make sure no one was there before striding in, crossing the room and ascending the stairs as quickly as they could. 

From the stairs, it was a very short trip to the Second Year boys' common room. Tom manoeuvred Harry’s body into bed before gently relinquishing his mind to blissful sleep. His spirit hovered for only a second, just long enough to take in the sleeping boy in all his glory, before being sucked back into the diary, his wretched prison. 

Tom could not sleep, which was not much of a problem. He didn’t need to, since he was not alive in the physical sense of the word. Instead, he spent the night pondering the strange boy who had found him.

He could sense the boy’s magic, filling the air around him, so thick in the air that Tom could almost taste it. Who was this twelve-year-old boy with such deliciously dark magic? It was almost malevolent. 

He’d heard of the Potter family before of course. They had been purebloods, part of the magical aristocracy and very staunchly light. What could have happened during his years of confinement to produce a Potter like the one he’d somehow stumbled across?

He resigned himself to having to wheedle answers out of the boy at a later date as he felt him stir. His container was snatched from under the pillow and put carefully into a bag.

For a reason unknown to even him, Tom was excited for another day at Hogwarts.

***

The afternoon found Harry writing to Tom during History of Magic, despite the diary’s half-hearted attempts to convince him to focus on the professor. Hary guessed that Binns had probably taught Tom as well since the usually school orientated diary was barely even trying to argue with him. He asked as much.

_ ‘Cuthbert Binns? That man was already a ghost, even in my time.’ _

Harry sighed as Professor Binns started to talk about Brog the Belligerent’s favourite execution methods, something that would be incredibly interesting if not for the professor’s droning voice. 

His head drooped slightly as he returned his quill to the paper. 

_‘_ ** _Say, I’ve been so much more tired than usual lately,’_** He wrote to his trapped friend conversationally. **_‘Perhaps I’ve been staying up too late writing to you,’_**

_ ‘I have been reminding you much more of the time,’ _ Tom agreed easily as Harry yawned into his hand.  _ ‘Perhaps you should take advantage and nap during this period instead of continuously writing to me.’ _

**_‘Maybe I will,’_ ** The boy responded before gently closing the book and laying his head on it, petting the spine absently. Tom sighed at the strange sensation. He never was able to explain why he felt the things the book felt but in that particular moment, he wasn’t complaining. 

They lay there, boy and spirit, lounging on the desk as the monotone voice of the ghost professor lulled them both slowly to sleep.

***

Harry stood in the corridors. It was dinner time and his stomach growled in protest as he continued to claw his way up the walls to write out his message. His eyes were once again a milky white, the only sign that he was being possessed. A bucket filled with animal blood dangled from one hand as the other spread it on the wall. 

The cat that’d been petrified by the basilisk earlier was already hanging from a sconce, watching with lifeless eyes as Harry finally stepped back to admire his work. 

His face twisted into a grin when blank eyes observed the drying message. 

“THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED,” It read. “ENEMIES OF THE HEIR… BEWARE”

That was sure to stir up some fear in the dirty blooded, he thought uncharacteristically as he slipped away. He had only just turned the corner at the end of the hallway when he heard Neville Longbottom and his friends gasp in horror.

“And so it begins,” He whispered as he continued to walk away from the scene, letting the Boy-Who-Lived and his sidekicks deal with the mess.

***

Harry ran into the common room, eyes wide. Tom was missing. His eyes searched the room frantically, searching every surface for the diary. 

While the common room tables were piled high with old scrolls and textbooks, none of them were the little leather book he’d grown so close to over the last months. He tore up the stairs, earning strange looks from the other Gryffindors sitting in the common room.

He knew he hadn’t misplaced Tom. He was almost obsessive in checking for the diary every few minutes. In fact, his habit was probably part of the reason he’d caught on to Tom’s disappearance so quickly.

If he hadn’t misplaced Tom, Harry thought panicked, Someone must have taken him. His erratic gaze swept the room. It was still much too early for anyone else to be in the dorm and Ron had elected to go study with Hermione when Harry told them he was going back to Gryffindor tower.

A small, slightly crazed grin appeared on Harry’s face. He supposed he would have to find Tom the hard way then. 

Half an hour later, Harry sat panting on his ruined bed, a familiar book by his side. The entire room was a mess of feathers and torn fabric, the evidence that Harry had indeed torn the entire room apart. 

He stroked the spine of the book gently before flipping it open and swiping a quill and inkpot from his nightstand. 

**_Tom_ ** , He wrote.  **_Are you alright? Did someone steal you?_ **

His companion responded immediately in his eve elegant scrawl.

_ It seems that I was _ , He said. He quickly continued, somehow sensing Harry's anger and concern.  _ I wasn’t harmed at all, however. In fact, my abductor was quite polite. _

Harry breathed slowly out of his nose at Tom’s nonchalant response to being kidnapped. 

**_Was it not you who said not to talk to strangers?_ ** He asked, referring to an earlier conversation about the dangers of Knockturn Alley. 

_ Am I not a stranger? _ Tom reasoned, causing Harry to snort and forget his anger.

**_Of course you’re not a stranger, I..._ ** , Harry trailed off in the middle of his sentence.

_ You…? _

He shook his head. 

**_I’m exhausted. I had to do quite a bit of tearing and slicing to find you._ **

_ Then go to sleep, you dunce _ , Tom responded good-naturedly.

**_See you soon Tom,_ **

Harry closed his book and slid into his torn duvet. He might be destructive but he wasn’t an idiot. If his bed was untouched, he would immediately be suspected. He snuggled in, closing his eyes and holding the diary close to his chest.

‘You’re not a stranger Tom, I love you,’ He thought as he sunk into the dark oblivion of his mind. 

***

Harry Potter, possessed, pale and shuddering, glanced down the dark hole that had opened up in the girls' bathroom. The ghost that lived there, Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be found. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry hopped in, cringing as he slid over grime and mould. He shuddered, wrapping his robes around his body and thinking of the message he'd written on a wall less than fifteen minutes prior.

HIS SKELETON WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER

It was rather ominous, to tell the truth.

Holding the diary securely in his left hand, he continued to walk forward and met a door, guarded by carved snakes. His jaw opened of its own accord and started hissing incomprehensibly. The hissing was clearly not incomprehensible to the snakes however as they slid out of place, unlocking the door. 

A small palm pushed the door open and stepped into a cavernous room. He staggered toward the statue of a stern-looking man that towered above the rest of the chamber. 

“Where am I?” he muttered as he looked around the room in awe.

“The Chamber of Secrets,” A posh voice responded and Harry turned around so fast his head nearly flew off his shoulders. 

Standing behind him was a boy, older than him and dressed in Slytherin robes. He was translucent, less solid than even a mirage.

“I… Tom?” He asked

A half-smirk distorted the boy’s face.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, at your service,”

Harry’s eyes widened, elated. 

“You managed to escape the diary!”

“Indeed I did, Harry. And it was all thanks to you,”

“Thanks to me?” Harry wobbled, feeling lightheaded.

“Oh, it’s quite alright. Sit down Potter,”

Harry crossed his legs and sat himself down on the freezing stone tiles of the Chamber.

“So you escaped?”

“Yes. You see the diary was sapping your energy, it still is. Because your magical core is so deliciously dark, it can provide me with the energy my soul needs to build itself a new body,”

“What happened to your old one?” Harry leaned back on his hands, cocking his head to one side.

Tom scowled.

“From the information you and your pathetic pureblood lion friend-”

“Neville? Neville was the one who kidnapped you?”

“Yes, yes, It was Longbottom. Moving on-”

“That little tosser,” Harry growled. “When I get my hands on him I’ll skin him, make him into a sausage and give the sausage to the house-elves so they can cook it for supper. Then I’ll force-feed his cooked guts to his little pet frog…”

“Ahem,” Tom coughed into his hand, looking strangely disturbed. “Back to the matter at hand. As I was saying, from the information you and your pathetic pureblood lion friend gave me, It seems my original self somehow managed to die, although we are actually immortal,”

He stepped closer to Harry and the boy noticed that he was beginning to look more opaque in some spots.

“Who are you in real life?” Harry asked. “Can we be friends?”

Tom chuckled. 

“I’m afraid not Potter. I’m not much the friend-making type,”

Spreading himself out on the floor, Harry pouted. 

“Everyone is the friend-making type,” He rebutted. “And you made friends with me didn’t you?”

Tom sighed before tracing his name out in front of him in glowing letters.

“You see this, This is my name. And This...”

He waved his hand and the letters rearranged, forming the name of one of the most notorious dark wizards of the century: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.

“Is also my name,”

“So you’re Lord Voldemort?” Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. “And you’re… Immortal?”

Tom looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would”

“Yeah, well I already knew you weren’t exactly a good person, what with the chicken murdering and the blood on the walls and all that,” Harry said, rolling his eyes from his place on the floor. “I don’t much care either. Anyways, The original Voldemort is still alive?”

“He should be,” Tom acquiesced after scrutinising Harry’s face with suspicion. “And why don’t you care? From what I’ve heard, it was my followers who tortured your parents,”

Harry grimaced. “No need to remind me,” He grumbled

Tom stared at him with an eyebrow raised.

Harry sighed. “It may have been your followers who drove my parents mad but it was not you, nor was it on your orders. You, on the other hand, have been nothing but kind to me. You’re my friend, my confidant,”

Harry took a deep breath before continuing as his energy continued to deplete. “I… I love you, Tom,”

Tom stared at him incredulously. Harry stared back with puppy eyes before Tom breathed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Potter, you are a twelve-year-old boy and I am a fifteen-year-old murderer. You don’t love me,” he said and Harry’s head rose feebly to glare at him.

“I do too,” He said softly “And I’ll prove it to you,” 

He struggled to push himself up but his arms were not strong enough for that. 

“I’ll- I’ll prove it to you,” His voice was just a little over a whisper. 

A loud crash sounded somewhere at the entrance of the cave. 

Tom’s attention snapped towards it and Harry fazed in and out of consciousness.

“... Don’t be … Wake up,” he felt someone shaking him. 

“... Won’t wake,” The hands withdrew immediately and Harry Potter was left abandoned on the tile floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

***


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty short but it's all I can give you guys rn, what with my STILL ONGOING internet problems. (At this point, I think my brother is just using up all the WiFi bc this is ridiculous)

Harry awoke to bright light and harsh white. He groaned and tried to push himself up only to be surprised when his hand pushed into a plush mattress. He forced his eyes to focus so that he could see the room around him. 

Large, arched windows decorated the wall across room him, giving him a beautiful view of the Hogwarts grounds. Many other beds were lined up beside his, meaning he was in some kind of mass housing facility or something similar. 

“Am I dead?” He mumbled to himself. “I don’t  _ feel _ dead”

“No dear,” A high pitched voice chirped from somewhere to the side. “You’re most certainly not dead,” The curtain that blocked his view of the sides of the bed was wrenched open, revealing the short, broad-shouldered woman.

“Madam Pomfrey?” He asked drowsily.

“How are you feeling Mr Potter? She asked as she fussed over him. 

“Just a bit of a headache,” he groaned as he tried to lean away from her hands.

“Of course you’d have a headache,” her probing hands retracted as she searched for some kind of potion beside the bed. “You’ve been out for seven days, you know,”

“No madam Pomfrey,” He said dryly. “I was not aware that I was asleep for seven days,” 

“Take this, love,” The woman said, completely missing his sarcasm as she brandished a blue-tinted flask in front of his face.

He shrugged before grabbing the bottle from his hands and swigging the liquid. He grimaced when he realised the liquid was piping hot.

It burned it’s way down his throat as the mediwitch looked on with satisfaction.

“Now just a couple of tests and I can let you back to your dorm to pack up for the summer,”

Harry nodded absently, moving certain limbs when asked but otherwise sitting limply in madam Pomphrey’s hands.

Seven days. Seven days since he learned who Tom really was. Seven days since Longbottom took Tom away from him. And most importantly, seven days since he’d made his promise.

‘Lord Voldemort, huh Tom,’ He thought as Pomfrey moved his arm. ‘Well, you can’t get away from me now.’

He knew Lord Voldemort was alive, something that maybe no one else in the world knew. Most importantly, he knew exactly how to prove his love to Tom.

His hands rubbed together as he started scheming.

***

Harry sat alone in his cabin during the train ride to King's Cross. Having barely caught the train because if his sejour to the hospital wing and his delay in packing. 

He didn't know where Ron and Hermione were, nor did he particularly care as he scrawled relentlessly in a bound notebook he'd nicked from McGonagall's office. 

_ The Jamie Plan  _ sat above the rest of the writing, a deceivingly innocent name for a not so innocent project.

As the hours dragged on and his plans filled up the pages, Harry began to ponder his to-do list. He really did have to read up on Voldemort's beliefs. It would be no good to accidentally… damage an ally. 

He would also need some supplies.

"Hmm," Harry hummed as he tapped the feather end of his quill against the side of his face. 

He had plenty of time, no matter. It wasn't like Voldemort the soul spectre was going to revive himself any time soon.

He was still lost in his thoughts when the train came to a stop, though his luggage flying across the cabin pulled him out of his head fairly quickly. He sighed as he rose carefully to his feet and rubbed his head. He wasn’t sure if the overall productivity of the train ride was worth the Jackhammer currently trying to drill its way through his skull.

He grabbed his luggage and dragged it out the sliding door, leaving a dark mark on the red carpets on the train as the leather scraped against it. 

Harry struggled down the stairs and his head swivelled around, scanning the busy station. The now barely familiar mop of black hair that he’d half hoped would be somewhere in the crowd was very clearly missing. He clutched his notebook closer to his chest, stepping down from the train and onto the stone platform of the magical station

He nimbly navigated towards the fireplace in the far corner of the station, avoiding the eye contact of any concerned parents. He grasped a handful of green powder in his hand and let it trickle into the flames. 

“12, Grimmauld place,” 

The fire thrust him through whatever interdimensional wormhole the floo system uses and into the black ancestral home.

“Sirius?” he called out once he’d ventured out of the fireplace and into the house.

He was met with absolute silence. 

He rolled his eyes before levitating his trunk up the stairs and shutting himself into his bedroom

The notebook he’d been holding onto like his life depended on it landed softly on his be as he stalked over to the desk in the corner. His trunk lay abandoned by the bed, clothes spilling out of it.

Clasped in harry’s hands was the page he’d been writing on in the train. He stuck it magically to the wall and stared at the red ink for a few moments before clenching his fists stubbornly. He would prove his worth to Tom, no matter what it took.

He wrenched the bench out from under the desk and summoned paper and an inkpot with a wave of his wand. His quill scratched furiously at the paper. 

When he was finally finished, jaw sore from the tight clenching of his teeth and wrist aching from the pressure he put on his quill, he had a list of names. 24 names to be exact. Enough to fuel his plans for two years. His lips parted into a feral smile as he held the list up. This was perfect. 

A pop startled him into stumbling onto the floor. Kreacher, the Black family house-elf stood before him, a plate of steaming food in his hand. 

“Dirty Master Harry’s dinner is being served” The elf croaked spitefully. 

Harry snatched the plate away, grimacing at the elf’s monicker for him. 

“Quit calling me that” He snarled before waving the elf away. He looked down and his list had fallen to the floor.

The first name, written boldly in his chicken-scratch handwriting stared back at him.

**Phoebus Penrose**

After a moment, Harry turned away, leaving the list on the ground.

“I really must get to work,”

***

Harry had never studied so hard in his life. He devoured the black library, raiding it for any and all books about Voldemort, his cause or helpful spells.

It was exhausting. It was unpleasant. Yet as Harry sat perched in a tree, dressed as a dirtied little kid, observing the infamous professor Phoebus Penrose as he wandered through the streets of Horizont Alley, he felt that it had all paid off. 

The man was clearly young. His face lacked the creases and weariness of the old and wise. His hair was tied back into a low bun, strands of hair dangling around his face. He was dressed sensibly in a simple black robe, nothing too fancy or that would make him a target of the brutes that tended to wander horizont. His glasses, small and ovular, were pushed firmly against his face. 

Harry sighed. This man’s career was only just beginning. He almost felt sorry for the man.

One of his hands held a sturdy branch to keep him steady while the other toyed with the sheathed knife in his pocket. Magically concealed eyes darted around, adding to his guise of the frightened young child.

As the young professor neared the tree, Harry pushed himself out of it, landing on his arm, as planned.

“Ow,” He cried, voice high and whiney.

Penrose’s head snapped around immediately. He quickly took Harry in before rushing towards him. 

“Are you alright young man?” He crouched over Harry, brows creased “You just took quite the fall,”

Harry took the hand the man was offering and pulled himself to his feet. 

“My elbow hurts,”

The man checked his watch before looking back at Harry. 

“I’m afraid we'll have to find your parents, I’m quite incapable of healing your wound at the moment,”

Harry’s brows furrowed. ‘Why?”

The man sighed as he straightened and brushed invisible dirt off of his robes. 

“Just a little potions mishap, nothing for you to worry your little head about,”

A potions mishap? That made sense when Harry thought about it. Professor Phoebus Penrose was the head of a special military research department of the ministry of magic, the reason the man was on his list in the first place. In his line of work, mishaps and workplace accidents must be incredibly common.

“I understand,”

Professor Penrose smiled softly. “Now, where have your parents gone off to?”

Harry did his best to shrug innocently.

“I’ve no idea” 

Penrose frowned. “Well that’s no good, is it?”

He glanced around nervously. The sun was starting to set, it’s dying light painting the heavens with bold purples and muted oranges. Shops were starting to close up, their awnings folding up of their own accord and the shop lights slowly extinguishing. 

Any lingering shoppers were rare and those still present were clearly there for reasons other than shopping. Looking around, one could see the malevolent glint behind their eyes, a common feature for those who ventured out after the sun had set.

Phoebus glanced back at Harry. “Well, it seems you’ve gotten lucky. We have no time to try and search for your parents but I can’t in good conscience leave you here to fend for yourself. How do you feel about coming home with me for the night?”

Harry’s head bobbed up and down. 

“That settles it then. Come with me young man, the fireplace is right through here,”

He grabbed Harry’s hand and led him down a complicated path, full of strange twists and side alleys. Harry followed, somewhat scared for his life as he realised that there was no chance of backing out and Professor Penrose might not be the nice young man he seemed to be. 

Just as he was preparing to run, He and the professor emerge from a particularly small side alley into a well-lit square. Off to the side, an orange fire crackled merrily. They swept over to it, grabbing a handful of green powder each.

“Now Harry, my address is Penrose cottage,”

“Yes sir,”

They stepped into the fire and chanted the address together, letting the warmth of the flames envelop them as they travelled to Penrose cottage.

In a split second, the square became a well-furnished living room. Harry stumbled out before the Professor stepped out of the fire behind him.

He pulled his outer robe off and set it on the couch before striding towards a green armchair and sinking into it. He let out a moan as he relaxed before tilting his head towards Harry. 

“Don’t be shy, make yourself at home,” 

Harry grimaced, shoving his fist into his pocket where the knife was sitting, waiting to be used. He pulled the sheath off of it with two fingers before pressing his thumb into the tip. The sting of the metal cutting into his skin reminded him of why he was here.

This was for Tom. he’d made a promise and he intended to keep it. 

He shuffled, towards the kindly professor as the man looked on. Harry’s eyes were glued to the floor. 

“Are you quite alright?” Penrose asked as Harry came within an arm’s length of him. Green eyes met Hazel and Penrose could see the regret in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry” Harry whispered as he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the professor’s chest. The man stared at his chest in shock as Harry pulled the knife out. It dripped blood on the armchair, staining the already dark fabric. 

He cringed as he brought his arm up again and let it fall into the professor’s chest again. And again. The pace became faster as the man tried to squirm away. His eyes flew closed and started to miss his target area. A nick in the arm, a chunk out of the jaw, a deadly slice across the neck.

Once he’d started he couldn’t stop, tears flowing freely from his eyes as he stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. 

The stabbing gradually slowed as Harry’s energy drained from him. He peeled his eyes open to see the mess he made of the professor’s body. It was slumped in the chair, littered with cuts. Harry had to look away when he saw that he'd accidentally taken out one of his eyeballs.

His clothes were nearly as bloodstained as the body. The viscous liquid clung to his hands like gloves, tainting them. His jacket was ruined and his pants would need to be burnt. He took a deep breath before looking back at the body. 

He wasn’t finished yet. 

Harry grasped the knife with shaking hands and took the professor’s cooling hand in his own. He sawed at the flesh, struggling to cut through all the bones and cartilage but he managed to cut off a pretty large piece of flesh. 

He held the flesh up to his eyes, nose scrunching up with disgust, and sighed. 

“Well, this is going to take longer than I expected,” 

He tossed the piece of meat onto the carpet and went back to hacking at the professor’s body. 

“At least I have all night”

It did, in fact, take Harry all night to dissect the professor's body. By that time, the blood had run dry and Harry’s eyes were drooping.

“Thank Gryffindor, I’m finished,” He moaned as he laid out the flesh into the words he needed. The shock of the murder had long worn off and the tedious working of cutting up a human body had exhausted him.

Soon, the pieces of flesh had been arranged into his message for Tom. It was simple really, something no one but the two of them would understand. 

**_‘FOR TOMMY. LOVE, JAMIE’_ **

And so began what the wizarding and muggle authorities alike would soon be calling ‘The Jamie Murders’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, you heard it here first kids. Don't invite random strangers off the street into your secluded cottage bc they might kill you in the name of their 77-year-old serial killer crush.

**Author's Note:**

> I have for you, a very late comment on JKR's newest BS:
> 
> As everyone knows, JKR is on some TERF shit rn, so this is just your daily reminder that our lord and saviour Gilderoy the Mouse Prince wrote the entire Harry Potter saga only for some transphobic bitch to take credit for it all. (I guess that's karma really is a bitch)
> 
> Thank you, that is all.


End file.
